


Angel Music Box

by Navy_Bird



Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29358822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navy_Bird/pseuds/Navy_Bird
Summary: What would happen if discorporated Aziraphale never found Crowley?His spirit would roam around the earth, looking for his best friend, until he would give up and settle in an angel music box...Without knowing why, Crowley, overcome with grief, buys the music box and takes it home.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 31
Collections: Good Omens Winter Wonderland Zine





	Angel Music Box

Angel Music Box

He stayed on the cold ground, still, while the crowd moved around him.  
Footsteps, breaths, that were both near and… so far away.  
At least nobody saw him. And he didn’t see anyone either.  
He couldn’t interact with the outside world. Not without a body.  
And that was well, he thought, his neck craning up to the sky.  
His lips were parted and his lower eyelids moved up.  
His pain numbed down and his head spun, and the only thing he felt was the cold of the ground beneath him.  
Thhrummm thruummmm  
Something approached.  
Something soft and pink and warm.  
Thrummm thrummm  
Aziraphale’s face contorted into painful wrinkles, his lower lip hitching up and down.  
The old wound was reopening, and his body twisted in despair.  
Should he approach? Was it..?  
It couldn’t be.  
It wasn’t so many times before, so why would it be now?  
Aziraphale grabbed his torso and twisted it within his hands, tears prickling his eyes and burning them.  
But what if it is? It could -  
But what if it’s not?  
Then everything would be so much worse.  
Thruuummm!  
Aziraphale’s body left the ground.  
It went into something, a thing that wasn’t a body.  
A thing that was cold. That was still.  
And that was well.  
⥈  
Crowley’s slim figure swayed from side to side on his way home. The snow fell around him, and if his fingers had a mouth they’d be begging him to stuff them inside his coat pockets.  
But Crowley kept them firmly on the music box, that stayed by his chest, and that glowed in a warm light.  
He felt strange. He felt pain, but he also felt a little bit of happiness.  
He felt like the ground sent prickles through his feet that jolted throughout his entire body.  
Most of all, he felt like he was watching his body from the outside, while it strutted along the cold street.  
The music box was also a snowglobe, with a stone angel that set on its knees among fake snow inside. There was so much snow that no matter what angle the globe tilted, some snow would always land on the angel. The poor angel looked like it was freezing.  
Crowley bought it in Camden market earlier that day during one of his searches, one of the searches that now made up his daily life, and was instantly drawn to it.  
Before he realized it himself, his hand was on the snake-shaped doorknob of his flat, and he pushed it and went inside.  
His plants were wilted.  
There were dishes in the sink and the shutters lay diagonally on the floor. Clothes, coats, and garbage bags were thrown around the place. The walls were moldy and rough to the touch, and the color was starting to fade from the window frames, revealing the wood beneath it.  
A folded letter lay on the coffee table.  
Crowley reached the middle of the living room, and stopped. With his face looking at the wall in front of him, he collapsed to the floor.  
That was the place in which he now lied. He didn’t sleep anymore, he just lied.  
The music box set in front of him, and his glasses slipped halfway off his nose. His golden eyes peeking through them at the figure of the angel inside.  
His lips were cold.  
The staring contest continued for another half an hour, after which Crowley started to talk.  
“I knew an angel like you once. Well… he was a whole lot prettier. What? Don’t take this to heart, it’s hard to compete with him.”  
The music box didn’t say anything. And neither did Crowley, not for another hour.  
“He died in a fire.” Crowley’s voice was shaky when it broke out of his throat at last. “In his own bookshop. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” His voice mellowed.  
His eyes looked around frantically. He felt like a bag filled with water, and every time he spoke a new hole was poked into him. He tried not to explode.  
“We tried to stop the apocalypse. End of the world. Turns out it stopped just fine without us.”  
Another hole. And Crowley knew that if he said anything else all the water would spill out, so he stayed quiet.  
A heavy blue atmosphere covered them like a blanket.  
A few more hours passed until their next conversation.  
“You play music, don’t you? Maybe some music would be nice now.”  
Crowley reached out with his entire arm to the music box, which felt like it was a lot further than it really was, and wound it up.

Pum pa pam pam pam papapam

The music, like a soft whisper of warm light, slipped out of the music box, and washed over Crowley. His bluish hands felt warm. His lips turned pink again. And his heart started beating.

Pam pam pampampam pam pam papapam

The music swam through the walls, and the mold disappeared, and they looked like they got a new coat of paint. 

Papam papa papam  
Papa pam pam papapam

The trash disappeared as well, and the plants became a healthy shade of green.

Pam pam pa pam  
Ppapam pam  
And Crowley felt warm and happy enough for him to let out an awed smile. The warmth bubbled up within him. He felt like himself again. He felt strong enough to sit up again. He picked up the music box and put it on the coffee table, before sitting on his throne. 

Pam papam papam pa pam papa

Crowley leaned forward, his elbows and chin on the table, the smile spreading on his face. The music lulled him into a warm rest.

Pam

His cheek resting against the glass of the music box, Crowley fell asleep. He looked peaceful, like a child put to sleep by a lullaby.  
It was his first sleep since the summer.

⥈  
Pain.  
It felt like Aziraphale was impaled on a big icicle.  
The cold enveloping him and the pain sticking it in.  
And all he could do was balance himself on the icicle and try not to fall.  
His breath shaky and his neck craned at an uncomfortable angle.

Hhhnggg… hgnnngg…  
He shuddered.  
But it wasn’t an icicle. It was that something, that something that was soft and pink and warm.  
It was love.  
And he thought about Crowley… the friend he lost.  
He thought of that time they got so drunk Crowley fell out of the second floor window of the bookshop, or how he glared at him during their last meal in the ritz…  
And the icicle was pushed in deeper, even twisted in its place.  
Because it couldn’t be him… Aziraphale was floating around looking for him for months on end and every time he felt love and dared showing himself it. Was. not.  
It was a dog that loved its owner.. Or a couple in the park..  
But never him.  
Hnnngg… hnggg…  
Aziraphale folded over himself, pushing the icicle closer.  
He made his metaphysical self as tiny as it could’ve been, and sent out a wave.  
And then everything went still.

⥈  
Mphhh…  
Crowley’s eyelids trembled when the sun hit them. He wanted more than anything to stay asleep, just for a little while longer…  
His cheek was still resting on the music box, which he now pulled closer to himself and wrapped his arms around it.  
He felt like he was cuddling it, and even if the room and the music box were cold, Crowley felt warmth spread over his body. A small c curved smile formed on his lips.  
But something was missing.  
He reached out to the small key that turned the music box on, and pressed on it.  
….  
….  
…  
Nothing.  
It wasn’t that it didn’t play music, it just wouldn’t budge. Almost like it was frozen solid.  
All of the warmth and the comfort that the cuddle brought have vanished away into nothingness, leaving Crowley just as cold as everything around him.  
Reluctantly, he opened one of his eyes and straightened up in his chair. His golden eyes fixated on the music box for a bit, and then he leaned over it and tried again.  
The key was just stuck.  
“Need some time?.” Crowley mumbled to the music box. “Fine I suppose. I’ll go make myself some coffee.  
Crowley left the table, his heart filled with hope.  
The smell of the black espresso dominated the room when Crowley poured it into his cup. It was smooth, like liquid silk, but it was strong too.  
The steam that came out of it lifted up into Crowley’s nose as he walked back to the table.  
He set down and put the cup beside him, and decided that the appealing aroma could wait.  
There were more important things to deal with now.  
His hand was already over the key.  
He tried to move it again. Nothing.  
Some of the magic that came with the music box seemed to have faded away along with it. The walls started to grow moldy again. The air in the flat was damp.  
“Did you get stuck or something?” He asked and lifted it up. He moved his hand over it to miracle it back to normal, only to notice that the fake snow didn’t move from its spot on the bottom of the snowglobe, no matter at what angle it was.  
Crowley raised an eyebrow.  
He set the music box aside and went back to his coffee, but he couldn’t help but give the music box side glances once in a while.  
Once in a while being, every time he lifted his cup.  
And every single time he put the coffee down immediately and tried to miracle it back to working order. Then, he tried to move the key again.  
“C’mon, you can do it, c’mon.”  
“Work you- ngk!”  
“Oh lord who do I have to sacrifice for you to play again....”  
After his 20th attempt, Crowley flinched away and moved the music box to the corner of the table.  
“Bloody heaven, you’re getting all worked up over a blasted music box.” He said and rubbed his face with his hand.  
He reached to his mug and took a sip of his coffee.  
It was disgusting.  
Dismantling the music box seemed like the scariest thing Crowley had ever done.  
But he had to try to fix it, and no matter how many times he miracled it to work, it wouldn’t budge.  
The old fatherly man on youtube instructed him to remove the key, unscrew the bottom, and put oil in a few places.  
And that was just what Crowley had done, his hand shaky as it held the damp wooden stick over the music box’s mechanism.  
Surely it had to work now.  
He put the bottom of the music box on again and returned the key to its place and…  
His plants wilted and the shutters broke and fell diagonally.  
His next distraction was pacing back and forth in front of the coffee table.  
His hand covered his mouth and his eyebrows were furrowed.  
He marched from the left wall to the right one.  
“Pull yourself together, you bloody excuse for a demon. It’s an old music box. It’s probably just rusty.”  
His nose hit the right wall, he spun around and marched to the left one.  
“But if it’s rusty, why didn’t the fake snow fall? It’s made of- I don’t know, probably not metal!”  
His nose hit the left wall, he spun around and marched to the right.  
“You’re wasting your time now! You should be out there, looking for him, you should just smash the damn thing and-!”  
He stopped in front of the music box and instantly ran to move the key.  
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.  
He put his hands over his hair to try to shut himself up and folded his body.  
“PLANTS! I NEED TO WATER MY PLANTS!” He exhaled in a shaky voice and ran to grab his mister.  
He smiled as he ran towards the plant corridor, and when he stood at the doorway, his smile dropped.  
He dropped the mister and turned around.  
The dishes that Crowley never used were washed, the laundry that was already dry was hung, and an empty rubbish bag was taken out.  
The apartment remained silent, and returned to the way it was the evening before.  
Crowley set in the corner, his back away from the music box,  
And cried.

The next day Crowley sat on his livingroom’s floor, his legs pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees. The air was cold, and hail started to fall outside the window, the small rocks of ice creating a constant, loud sound.  
The music box set elevated on the coffee table in front of him. It was now higher than Crowley, it was big, and it was threatening.  
Gray desaturated light fell over both of them from the open window.  
“I know you’re in there.”  
His voice sounded like it came from hundreds of meters away.  
And the music box seemed more distant now, as if it thought that Crowley was attacking it and moved away.  
Crowley looked away, the hail rumbling outside. His eyes were puffy and red, and the light seemed doubled around well lit objects. There were tear stains under his eyes and he was completely shaken up.  
He dared to speak again.  
“Or, a part of you. Or something like that.” He sniffled in the cold. “I know what being by your side feels like. I know how warm and loved you make me feel. I know I felt that when you played your song.”  
Lighting blared outside.  
“Why won’t you come out? Or show yourself or even.. Talk to me?” Crowley’s voice broke out of his throat, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Don’t you know how bloody I’ve bloody.. Missed you..!”

⥈  
And Aziraphale felt that feeling again. That feeling that was so good and so painful.  
The feeling that reminded him of the one he’d lost. The feeling that pushed the icicle deeper into his chest.  
The feeling of love.  
He had to open up, love this strong could only belong to…  
No, others could feel love that was just as strong.  
It was never him. And it couldn’t be him now, either.  
Because if it wasn’t… and Aziraphale revealed himself,  
He wouldn’t be able to handle it.

⥈

“Please, Aziraphale!” He begged, his voice rough and broken, and the hail came in from the open window, beating on everything in sight, including Crowley himself. Crowley’s hands shook and squeezed the music box as tightly as they could.  
“I’m here! It’s me!”

⥈  
He had to hide. He had to make himself so small and so stiff he would just completely disappear.  
Hnngg… hnngg….

⥈  
Crowley’s eyes were big and fully golden, his lips were shut together as tightly as they possibly could’ve been, and snot dripped down his red nose.  
His vision tilted from side to side as he held the music box.  
His last hope.  
Maybe he wasn’t comfortable speaking yet. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe that bit of him or that essence or whatever that was wasn’t capable of speech.  
He made one last attempt. His hand reached over to the little handle.  
His lips parted to speak, to say one last word of encouragement.  
“Angel… I love you.”  
The words escaped his cold lips just as he wound the music box.  
And he let go and…  
Nothing.  
KTCSHHHHHHHHHH!  
“WHY WON’T YOU PLAY FOR ME?! YOU BLASTED- HIDING IN A BLASTED MUSIC BOX!” Crowley’s throat hurt from screaming.  
“COME OUT! I’M GIVING YOU ONE LAST CHANCE! IF YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING- I’LL-JU-I  
LL ASSUME YOU’RE JUST A REGULAR MUSIC BOX AND SMASH YOU!”  
Crowley glared at the music box, and the music box glared back, and Crowley’s hands flinched from side to side as he held it.  
Gloops of tears that stung his eyes built up in them,  
KTCSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
Crowley threw the music box against the wall and it exploded into a million shards of glass.  
His eyes widened at the horrible thing he’d just done.  
His heart raced, and he rushed towards the glass shards.  
Winter seemed to come out of the broken music box, cold air filled the room and pushed Crowley back, and the fake snow fell all over the flat’s floor.  
Crowley fell to his knees in front of the shards.  
He felt the cold knife his cold-blooded body. His temperature started to leap downwards.  
“I’m sorry, Aziraphale! I’m so-gha!”  
His shaky hands started to pick up the glass shards and put them back together, but his fingers grew cold and blue and stiff, and the glass cut through them like paper, drops of his blood fell on the snow.  
He had to get out of the flat, before he’d freeze to death.  
His legs were too numb to walk, so he strutted along the floor, pushing himself towards the door, with arms that had already lost most of their feeling, his neck was cold too.  
His hand was as stiff as a spade when he moved it up to the door knob, but then…  
He looked back. He broke the music box that Aziraphale most likely resided in.  
This was all his fault.  
Slowly, he let his body slump down into the snow, a hitch in his throat.  
His body numbed.

⥈

There was a new feeling in Aziraphale’s being now.  
It wasn’t a feeling of one icicle stab. It was a feeling of complete explosion and overwhelming pain.  
That was the feeling of heartbreak.  
And why would Aziraphale feel heartbreak now?  
Was he around a couple who had broken up?  
It was hard to find his footing. His arms were around his torso, holding it in place. He was afraid that it would fall apart as soon as he’d let go.  
His feet hurt.  
No. The heartbreak was direct. It was directed to him.  
He was cast out of the item he confined himself in. Why would he be cast out if nobody tried to hurt him?  
A shudder went throughout his whole body, forcing him to switch from one metaphysical foot to the other.  
He felt like he was going to lose himself.  
This time it had to be Crowley, Crowley must’ve! Recognized him.. Somehow.  
What a fool was he?  
If it really was Crowley, he had most likely lost him by now.  
If it wasn’t, he was going to reveal himself and get hurt.  
He had to try, didn’t he? It had to be him…  
His heart squeezed in pain, and he made his spirit bigger.  
A body.. A body.. He needed a body…  
He didn’t have a body.  
He felt like the pain would force him to let go of himself at any second, and then everything would fall to the spiked floor.  
He continued to drag himself forward, and then he felt a spark. A spark that grew into a warm embracing light, that wrapped around him and hugged him and vanished every last drop of pain.  
And when he looked up, he saw tht the spark was coming from a figure. 

“Crowley!”  
He gasped and ran to the figure he saw passed out in the snow on the floor.  
Crowley’s skin was blue. His hair and fingers were brittle. He had dark circles in the grooves of his body, which was entirely covered in little prickles of snow.  
Aziraphale put his hand against Crowley’s forehead, and felt an instant shudder.  
“You’re so cold…”  
He looked around, his lips pursed nervously. He had to get the poor snake to a warm place.  
He reached down to pick him up, but..  
His semi transparent hands went right through him.  
He couldn’t leave him here to find a body, or he’ll freeze to death, and he couldn’t warm him up, because he didn’t have a body.  
He knelt down in the snow beside him, and let his head fall on his chest.  
An hour passed.  
And another.  
Crowley was just as cold as he was before. Aziraphale’s stomach twisted, and his eyes prickled.  
He looked back to the room around him, there had to be something…  
There was something.  
A small item that lay broken on the floor.  
An angel music box.  
Flashes of memories came back to him, memories that he wasn’t sure if he experienced himself.  
Crowley’s cheek pressed against the music box as he fell asleep, Crowley begging the music box to play..  
He turned back to Crowley with a breath stuck in his lungs.  
It was a long shot, but he had to try…

“Pum pa pam pam pam papapam”

The music, like a soft whisper of warm light, slipped out of Aziraphale’s throat and washed all around them. 

“Pam pam pampampam pam pam papapam”

The music swam through the air. It enveloped the two of them, creating a warm bubble for them to be in. The bubble started spreading.

“Papam papa papam  
Papa pam pam papapam”

The warmth melted the snow around them, and the flat started heating up.

“Pam pam pa pam  
Ppapam pam 

The warmth washed over everything, and any trace of winter, including the broken music box, disappeared from the flat. When Aziraphale finished singing, he pressed his head on Crowley’s chest, and whispered softly.

“Crowley. I’ve done very wrong by you.  
But I want to fix it. I’m here now,  
and I’m calling out to you.  
And I’m calling out to say that I love you.”

The angel closed his eyes. He was afraid Crowley would never come back to him. That this was all his fault, if he’d just sang earlier, if…  
A hand reached out and placed itself on Aziraphale’s semi-transparent cheek.  
Aziraphale lifted his eyes and saw Crowley, his skin a warm shade of tan, his eyes open and full of light.  
And both of them felt that warm and soft feeling around them.  
Aziraphale was taken aback at first. He let out a giggle. This was Crowley. The one he lost. The one he looked for for so long.  
Tears of happiness fell from his eyes, and he chuckled at them.  
“Oh, oh Crowley! I thought I’d never see you again, I thought, I-”  
Crowley lunged himself forward to hug Aziraphale as tightly as he could, even if it meant that his arms went right through him.  
Both of them stayed silent for a bit.  
“Oh.” Aziraphale exhaled and dried the tears from his eyes before hugging Crowley back.  
“I didn’t know you could sing.” Crowley said happily.  
“It’s nothing really, just..”  
“Naw. You really can sing. You do it well.” He closed his eyes, resting himself against the angel.  
“Well.” Aziraphale puffed his chest pridefully. “I suppose I’ll have to sing regularly to you now.”  
“I’d like that.”  
“I’d like that, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Hope you enjoyed :) The drawing for this fic was made for the Winter Wonderland Good Omens zine!


End file.
